


Like iron, salt and sugar

by solymer



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solymer/pseuds/solymer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He looks in her eyes and knows, he is supposed to feel guilty, but he does not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like iron, salt and sugar

**Author's Note:**

> My first post here :) i hope you like it.   
> Since my native Language is German and my English is sometimes horrible, I was happy to have the wonderful et2brute for the beta-reading. Thank you for your wonderful work!

Some people claim that Gretel has the eyes of a deer:

Brown but bright. Tall but tender- With a gaze of sweet innocence.

Hansel can only laugh at them. 

How could anyone compare his sister to something so fucking harmless? 

\----------  
When both get older, he has to realize that it is no longer just his sister’s eyes that the other men's comments refer to.  
He hates listening to them, when they think he doesn't; it is like someone is spilling mud on the blooming white of his bedsheets, or as if their dirty mouths are shadowing the shining snow-light of winter. 

And it is winter indeed.  
Hansel stands up, part of his mind following the good intention of lighting the fire in the chimney, but he doesn't get this far. The door opens and Gretel enters, arms fully loaded with dry wood from outside the house. Her hair is completely messed up and covers her face like a reddish-brown spiderweb.  
Hansel stops and stares at the streams of dark silk floating over the pale pink-ice of his sister' cheeks until Gretel drops the wood and his tensed glare is painfully forced to the ground. It’s like seeing both her and the floor for the first time.

When his sister looks up again, Hansel wonders if the cold really is the only reason for her flushed face.  
He watches her working silently at the chimney until orange flames burst out of the dark ashes.  
She just lies down in front of the fire, so close that her skin will inevitably dry out in a couple of minutes.  
Out of his perspective he cannot see whether her eyes are shut or not. But either way, he suddenly has a strong desire to kill the flames.  
\-----------------

 

This winter, Hansel also learns about the art of lying - and his lack of talent for it.  
"Do you find me beautiful?", his sister says, and she sounds a little bit worried, as if she'd been thinking about a complicated problem for a while and is now insecure of her own solution.  
"For other men, surely you are."  
"And for you?"  
"Keep movin’, Gretel."  
But of course the stubborn thing does nothing of the sort.  
"You have the same fuckin’ eyes as them, don't you?"  
"Gretel."  
"Just tell me. Tell me the way you tell me when I can or can't handle a weapon well," , she insists, with a strong connotation on can't, as if it would be rather ridiculous used in context with her warfare skills. But he senses her tension hidden behind this shit - It's not healthy, It's the fucking opposite of healthy.  
Eyes are being rolled on both sides, until Hansel finally gives in. He's not very optimistic about it.  
"You're stunning."  
And after that it feels like drifting apart and getting chained together at the same time in their eye-locked silence.

 

.......

It’s one thing to save your sister from an armada of witches in battle. It’s another to protect her from men. 

 

One time - it had to come - he is there. He sees a swarm of them swirling around her: Some make her uncomfortable, some make her bored, and this day some fellow actually makes her laugh. Hansel hates the fucking lumberjack.

"What's your name?", the stranger asks her. As far as Hansel can tell by Gretel's sparkling eyes, she must consider him handsome.

"Margarete," answers Gretel. She never uses her real first name.

"How pretty. You know its meaning, no? It means pearl."

Hansel can see him, talking and leaning to his sister, brushing her chin -

And then his hand obeys his heart. 

Next thing he senses is her shouting his name, and shattering glass when the stranger goes down and Hansel's fingers loose slowly out of the aching fist. He feels dizzy and furious. He doesn't want to regret. He wishes to get away. He does not care.

He takes Gretel's hand and drags her with him; up they go, behind a door and into a cold, dark room. 

Nobody dares to stop them.

When he has locked the door, he turns around. She looks at him; and even though it's dark, he can tell she is calm and knowing.

"You cannot have me for yourself forever," she whispers.

Hansel shudders.

He suddenly realizes her eyes actually do look like those of a deer in this moment, and it has nothing to do with being harmless. It has a lot to do with being vulnerable, beautiful and way too fast.

So he steps forward and catches her with his arms. He crushes her to him, and tightens and tightens the grip, until she makes a divine sound and he feels the salvation of her fingers in his hair, on his skin

"I can try."

 

They hold each other again, soon after the blood-moon.

They hold each other for a long time, eyes closed, curling into each other, moving and shifting, as if they were dancing very very slowly and clumsily.  
There are tears on Gretel's face, and sometime somehow they fall onto the bed; there is no space left between their bodies, and Hansel can feel this strange but familiar combination of comfort, trust and total agony.

He does not dare to open his eyes again. These moments are so rare, and looking at each other always ends them. But then he feels her burning eyes on him and his eyes fly open within seconds; so does his mouth.

"You didn't speak to me the whole day."

"When you found me in our parent's house, you smelled after a woman."

“It didn't mean anything.”

 

"No."

She shakes her head like a child, and there are tears shimmering in the fading sunlight, and Hansel does not know whether they're new or old. She looks more beautiful than ever.

"You have no idea of what it’s like, Sis. Sometimes I think I'm gonna lose my mind."

"What do you mean?"

 

Hansel is out of words now, but he also knows he can not bear it any longer.  
So he touches her face and frames it with his fingers. 

Gretel resists at first - how could she not? - stubborn, violent and with beautifully coloured cheeks against his roughness. She tries to turn her face, mutters curses against his lips that sound like prayers. Suddenly they are not tender anymore, but fighting like predators: rolling over each other, biting and screaming. With each movement, Hansel presses himself tighter to his sister, trapping her until his knee is between her legs and his manhood is rubbing against her thigh. Gretel’s eyes flutter.

"I'm not your fucking property."

He looks in her eyes and knows he is supposed to feel guilty, but he does not.  
She kisses him.

Within this moment, where their tongues meet for the very first time, Hansel is sure he has never felt more adrenaline pushing through his veins in his life.

Kissing her feels like heaven, but it tastes like blood:

Like iron, salt and sugar.

"Yes, you are," Hansel gasps, and closes her lips with his own again, his hands sliding under her nightgown, desperately wanting to get even closer to her.

When he reaches between her legs for the first time, she whispers his name.

Her skin feels soft and delicate, and he can taste the wetness of sweat and tears between her breasts, as he explores her strong curves with even stronger hands. She closes her eyes in pleasure and his mind gets clouded.

"You are mine, Gretel."

And I am yours forever.


End file.
